


Nothing Needless

by Vermillions



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, X-Men (Movies), X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: Alternate Ending, Drama & Romance, F/M, reconcilliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-02
Updated: 2014-06-02
Packaged: 2018-02-03 02:23:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1727651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vermillions/pseuds/Vermillions
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post <i>X-Men: The Last Stand</i>. A little snippet to remedy the lack of Nightcrawler- or any mention of him- in the last few X-films. Some angst, some jokes, some religious ramblings from Kurt. </p><p> <i>"He was still standing when she returned a moment later, looking around the study with a glazed, forlorn look in his eyes. She recognized it. She looked at the room in the exact same way."</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing Needless

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this as a kind of remedy for the fact that poor Kurt is never mentioned again in the _X-Men_ movieverse. Solid bummer, he’s my fave.
> 
> As a film-score-and-soundtrack-nerd, I write my stories in correlation with pieces of music that seem to match, so her is the order of the songs used in my musical headcanon. If you have any of them, they’re nice to listen to, but the whole music-accompaniment-thing is just my derpy routine, so ignore it if you’d like. ;P
> 
>  **Music- marked by the exact places in the text where I usually start the track:**  
>  “The halls were empty”: _‘Louisiana 1927’_ \- Randy Newman  
> Warren enters: _‘We could Go Home’_ \- The Hunger Games, James Newton Howard  
> “A good day for flying”: _‘To Kill A Mockingbird’- (Main Title)_ \- Elmer Bernstein  
> “I took a bus”: _‘Define Dancing’_ \- Wall-E, Thomas Newman,  
> “The professor’s office?”: _‘Main Title’_ \- Hidalgo, James Newton Howard  
> “I’m sorry”: _‘The Boy Who Drank Stars’_ \- Howl’s Moving Castle, Joe Hisaishi  
> “Redemption”: _‘Rue’s Farewell’_ \- The Hunger Games, James Newton Howard  
> “Not vhat I needed”: _‘The Funeral’_ \- Band of Horses
> 
> Last but not least, the biggest thanks ever to **Suzelle** here on AO3 for being the most wonderful beta of all time. She’s talented as all get out, go read her everything, y’all. 
> 
> Now: fic!

###

_Nothing Needless_  


The halls were empty and the stairways quiet. Ororo could hear the storm outside as though it was inside the school with her, but it was none of her doing. The rain had begun falling that morning, and it hadn’t stopped since. Rainfall was something that never bothered Ororo; on the contrary, she enjoyed it. But today, somehow, it was different. Today it lent to the stillness of the mansion in a way that made everything cloying, and bent the wood-paneled walls in around her like a damp oaken noose. She blinked the image away, walking out of the kitchen and into the far more spacious dining room.  


She missed the children. But for the handful of teens, (all the newest X-men and a few of their younger compatriots) all her students had returned home for summer break. Some remaining, like Bobby, stayed in an effort to extend their absence from their less than understanding families. Others, like Kitty, stayed to keep their friends company.

Having them in the mansion kept Ororo sane. When school was in session, everything was chaos and mess, and skinned knees and birthdays. Running the school kept her grounded, which had initially surprised her a great deal. Surrounded by young voices needing to be heard, somehow, helped her cope. She ran the institute to the best of her abilities, and performed every task diligently, dealing with any issues the way she thought the professor might have, were he alive. Having her fingers in so many pies meant that her mind was always occupied, and that everything she did not want to focus on was locked safely away where routine and tedium could keep it at bay.

But the halls were empty now, and she felt that control slowly slipping away from her. When the teens left, she wasn’t sure how she would hold up. There would be only paper to push; no hands to wash or mouths to feed in Xavier’s house. His big, lonely house.

“Storm?”

She turned to look at Warren Worthington, standing in the doorway with his wings half opened and his orthopedic house shoes on. Ororo sat up in her chair and pushed away from the dining room table slightly.

“Sorry, Warren. Got a bit lost in thought.”

Warren nodded and gave her a half-smile, his blue eyes full of understanding. Or perhaps Ororo was over-thinking things. She liked Warren. He was reserved, almost shy, but he had an inner strength to him that you could see written in his face.

“Something you need?” She asked.

Warren proffered a bulging file from under his arm. Ororo licked her forefinger and thumb as she opened the file, leafing through it.

“Final grades,” said Warren. “Uh, the page on top—with the blue tab—is for English, and the red tab is Spanish, and the green is Algebra. Then these dividers have the students actual work, and they’re labeled by color… you get the picture.” He gave her that half-smile again.

Ororo nodded. “Thank you, Warren.” She said, setting the folder down on the redwood table. “You’re a paragon of good work. If only I could get Logan to be more… fastidious with his grading. I’m certain I’ll have to lend a hand at some point if I want the students to have something resembling a GPA by the end of the summer. Where is Logan, anyway?”

Warren shrugged. “He took his bike and went off…. Loganing.”

Ororo smirked and let out a sigh through her nose. “Loganing. I think we should make that a thing.” 

Warren nodded emphatically. “Get it put in the dictionary. ‘To ride off into the rain on a motorcycle and brood and do… god only knows what.’”

“He’ll come back eventually. I hope,” said Ororo with a laugh that was a lot hollower than she had meant it to be. She felt she could count on Logan, but sometimes Ororo worried she might be wrong. 

“You and I will just have to hold down the fort.”

Warren nodded. He was someone accustomed to solitude, Ororo could see, and perhaps he understood that she didn’t want to be alone. Alone with the memory of the Professor, and Jean, and Scott. 

“Dr. McCoy is still coming down next week,” he said.

“Oh, you’re right! I had almost forgotten,” said Ororo, cheered by the reminder, “It’ll be good to see Hank. In the meantime, you’re gonna have a lot on your hands, dealing with that bunch upstairs when I’m busy calculating grades this week.”

“I think I’ll be fine,” said Warren.

“Oh really? Watch out for Jubilee. Her in-class essay for the end of term had marks in the corner that she tried very hard to erase. Didn’t work. They said ‘Angel’ over and over. With little hearts around the edges.”  
Warren fidgeted uncomfortably. Ororo laughed and stood, scooping up the folder. “Nothing to worry about, Warren. Last month the notes said ‘Cannonball’.” They walked out of the dining room and towards the foyer.

“Warren,” said Ororo, serious again, “I’m very glad, and lucky, to have you. Thank you for agreeing to teach, and to teach as many subjects— as often— as you do. I can’t overstate how big a help you are. And how great a teacher; I hear nothing but glowing remarks. The students all love you.” Respectfully, she left off ‘especially the girls.’

“Thank you for having me here. I’m glad I can be… useful.” Said Warren, and his eyes crinkled in a sad expression for a moment, then he smiled it off.

Ororo put a hand on his shoulder as they reached the stairs, “More than useful. Excellent.”

Warren smiled and headed upstairs. As he did, he nodded towards the enormous wooden doors at the opposite end of the foyer. “Maybe tomorrow will be a good day for flying,” he said with a wink.

“Oh, I hope,” said Ororo. 

As the wind broke against the windows in the East hall, Ororo decided not to let her hopes get too high. She turned the handle to the professor’s study and dropped Warren’s class files on the desk. Above her a loud thud shook the floorboards, followed by muffled laughter and applause. She sighed, hoping Sam hadn’t broken anything important this time around.  
Thunder rumbled so loudly outside that it rattled the windowpane. Ororo could have sworn she felt a draft, so she wrapped her sweater tighter around her and moseyed over to the fireplace. She kept logs stacked next to the hearth, just like the professor always had. Smiling, she piled three on the grate, stuffed the gaps with wads of old newspaper, and struck a long match. Then she placed the screen in front of the flames, feeling warmer already. She was washing the ink residue off her hands in the adjacent bathroom when she heard the doorbell ring. Drying her hands, she checked the mantle clock in the mirror. 9:01 pm. If it were Logan, he would’ve entered through the garage. Ororo furrowed her brows and made her way into the hall.

She approached the wide-set double doors quietly. The bell did not ring again. Perhaps she had imagined it. The wind howled outside and the doors shook in response. Then there was a knock. One, tiny, timid knock. Ororo peered through the peephole and out into the rain. She couldn’t see anything, just darkness. Then a shape appeared in the glow of the footlights, and a face. 

Ororo drew back from the door. She felt as though her insides were trying to crawl out of her throat and hurl themselves onto the floor. She took hold of one of the door handles, cautiously, as though it might burn her. Her whole body flooded with warmth, and she stood there for a moment, just a moment, letting a relentless flood of memories overtake her sight. Then she grasped the handle tight and yanked the door open.

When she saw him, she almost wanted to slam it in his face. She had been so solid, so grounded, so _good_ these past few months. And she could feel it, from the tips of her toes to the roots of her hair, that all that concentrated withdrawal was unraveling now like a spool of thread. He looked almost exactly the same as when he’d left, though a lot damper. He was wearing dull brown pants in contrast to the striped circus attire she was used to, but he was still wearing his long, strange black coat. That almost made her smile. Almost.

His eyes found hers, the same unsettling yellow ringed in white and framed by black lashes, fluttering in the rain and batting the droplets away. She was vaguely aware that her mouth had fallen open just slightly. 

He held his hands in front of him, clenched in the pockets of his coat, and his thin lips drew back in a shy smile, glaringly white against his blue skin. He hesitated, lips moving but making no sound, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.

“Hello,” he said.

She gripped the doorframe in her left hand like a lifeline. 

“Kurt,” she said.

He nodded and shrugged slightly, the water bouncing off of his shoulders at odd angles. His skin was even bluer than she remembered, darker and more vivid. He smiled at the sound of his name, and it was her favorite smile: the one that was bashful and mischievous all at once. The marks on his face seemed even more exotic and intricate than she recalled. She wondered if he had any new patterns on his skin, and if he’d let her see them... 

She shook her head. “I’m… I’m sorry, here, come in. You must be freezing!”

Kurt stepped inside gingerly, wiping his feet on the mat as Ororo shut the door behind him. She blinked away the raindrops that had found their way into her eyes, and wiped several droplets from her forehead. Kurt was completely drenched. 

Ororo didn’t ask him what he was doing on her doorstep; what he wanted. Instead she asked, “Did you walk here? You’re soaking wet, Kurt.” She liked saying his name. She’d always liked saying it.  
Kurt blinked numbly for a minute. Ororo’s voice shook him, he had missed the sound of it more than he’d even realized. He tried to laugh his reaction off. Ororo had missed that laugh.

“No,” said Kurt, “I took a bus, but it only goes so far down the road…”

Ororo nodded. Kurt nodded. Mostly because neither of them could think of anything else to do.

“Here, this way,” Ororo said, turning down the East hall. Kurt followed obediently. His tail wagged behind him as he watched her walk. 

Ororo approached a large door, the second on the left, and pulled a small leather pouch from her belt. She withdrew a key ring, found the right key, and turned it inside the lock. Kurt looked inside as Ororo flicked on the lights. A storeroom. How could he have forgotten? He had played mutant dodgeball with the children so many months ago, and this was where he had gone to retrieve the dodgeballs.

Ororo turned to him and smiled. Kurt felt a little woozy. 

“You’re drenched,” Ororo said, walking to one of the shelves in the back and procuring a box full of sweats. She rifled through it and found a pair of pants that she hoped would be a good fit, as well as a white tee and a zip-up hoodie, all bearing “Xavier’s” in print someplace, or just a characteristically charming letter X. She tossed the bundle to Kurt and returned the box to the shelf. 

“I nearly covered you in ice once, mister,” she said as they retreated into the hall, “I’m not about to let you catch a cold after being out in a little rain.”

Kurt grinned and his tail mirrored his enthusiasm. “Well then, perhaps you might deign to help out a little?” He quipped. 

Ororo smiled back as she locked the door. Without warning, her eyes flashed white, and a burst of wind sucked itself through an open screen at the end of the hall, throwing its weight at Kurt and nearly knocking him on his back. He laughed as it pulled at his damp clothes and dragged his lips apart like a dog leaning out of a car window. When Ororo at last relented, Kurt’s hair stood out at odd angles. He feigned distress and worked the damp locks into place again as Ororo laughed. When all was said and done, Kurt was a little bit drier.

“C’mon, I’ve got a fire going in the professor’s office,” Ororo said, leading the way to the open doorway in the middle of the hall.  
As he stepped inside, Kurt looked at her in that unsettling way of his. Where she could tell he saw right through her every move. 

“The professor’s office?” he said, “Not… yours?”

Ororo smiled ruefully. Kurt was still watching her with that look on his face. Ororo leaned against the desk and motioned to the bathroom at her left. 

“Go ahead and change in there,” she said, “and bring your clothes out when you’re done, we can hang them by the fire.”

Kurt nodded and didn’t say anything further, but he shot her a knowing look as his tail closed the bathroom door behind him. It was quiet then, on both sides of the door. Neither party knew exactly what to say. 

After anxiously tapping her thumbnail against her teeth for a good thirty seconds, Ororo said “Would you like some tea?”

“Ah, that would be lovely,” was Kurt’s tentative reply through the door. 

So Ororo rounded up two coffee mugs from her desk drawer, two bags of Earl Grey, and the electric kettle from the corner table. By the time she’d pulled the milk out of the mini fridge and the sugar from the glass cabinet at the base of the smallest bookcase, Kurt had emerged from the bathroom, all dry. Ororo watched him stride, not shuffle, into the room and hang his damp clothes on the screen, pulling it out a little further from the flames so as not to burn anything. He hung his limp satchel on the knob at the right corner of the screen and dried his hands on his new sweats. When all his wet things were laid out, he straightened and turned to Ororo with a flick of his tail. She gave him a tiny smile and took the kettle into the bathroom to fill with water.

He was still standing when she returned a moment later, looking around the study with a glazed, forlorn look in his eyes. She recognized it. She looked at the room in the exact same way.  
They didn’t speak as they waited for the kettle to boil. Just looked around the office, and at each other when they thought the other person wasn’t looking. Kurt wanted to stare at her for hours, endlessly rude as that may be. In his mind, her image had grown more beautiful and more enchanting in his absence, so that by the time he came walking up the driveway to the institute that evening, he had practically made Ororo into an angel, lacking only a halo and wings. But now, seeing her there before him, she was even more exquisite than he remembered. He kept sighing. He needed to stop sighing.

Ororo tried not to stare at Kurt. He was still so different, so intriguing, so… _Kurt_ , that she found it hard to avoid looking at him. And there was a pronounced difference in the way he carried himself now in comparison to the way he had before. Then, he had sat on his haunches, crouched into his shadow as though ready to spring at the crack of a twig, and his step had been a quiet shuffle, his shoulders hunched and submissive unless he was on the offensive. He stood taller now, straighter, and he walked with a purpose. She wondered what had happened to instill such a change in him. 

The ceiling creaked and the sound of running feet could be heard above. “Some of the kids are still here,” Ororo said, “the big kids.”

“Oh?” said Kurt, smiling. He had missed the students, too.

“Yeah. Kitty, and Jubilee, and Peter. Sam’s here too, and Bobby, and Marie. She’s been having a hard time adjusting.”

“She got the cure, ja?”

“Yeah.”

The kettle dinged and they both jumped a little. Ororo poured the water into the mugs.

“And their summer break started…?”

“Last week.”

Ororo swished the teabags around for a moment, then removed them. “Milk?” she asked Kurt.

“Ah,” his tail twitched slightly, “yes please, a little.”

She obliged, adding only a drop or so to her own mug. “Sugar?” she asked while she stirred.

“No, thank you.”

Ororo added half a spoonful to her mug, then picked them both up and handed Kurt his.

“Danke,” he said.

“You’re welcome,” she replied, and they sat down on the settee, a fair distance apart, stirring their drinks in silence. Kurt was sitting up straight, Ororo noticed, with his feet on the floor instead of tucked beneath him on the seat cushion as though he were a bird on a perch. He seemed more confident, more self-assured. She sipped her tea and tried not to think of these subtle changes as attractive.

Upstairs, a girl shrieked, the ceiling shook, and then all was laughter. Kurt and Ororo said nothing, even after the outburst had passed. They merely sat, stroking their mugs with idle thumbs, watching the steam rise with downcast eyes, gingerly sipping the hot liquid and trying not to burn their tongues. It felt like ages that they sat in silence, neither knowing what to say. Kurt took a breath and ran his tongue along his lower lip.

“I’m sorry,” he said at length, refusing to look up from his mug.

Ororo blinked and sat back. “For what?”

“For leaving,” was his reply.

Ororo’s heart lurched in her chest and she felt herself leaning forward. “Kurt, there’s… there’s nothing to be sorry for. You needed to go back to Germany.” She smiled slightly. “We don’t have to be sorry for the things we feel we need.”

The look in his eyes when he turned to her was unnerving. He seemed haunted.

“All the same,” he said, “I should not have left you.”

He looked down shyly. Ororo suspected that by “you”, Kurt had meant to say “everyone”. She tried not to let the slip affect her.

“You couldn’t have known, Kurt,” she said quietly. The fire snapped in response.

“Nein, I couldn’t. But still… it vas selfish for me to go. When I vas here, I felt like I vas… part of something. Something far greater than myself. A machine. Not of war, but of peace, and progress, and love. Every child here learns acceptance and kindness, it is truly… remarkable, Storm.”

Their eyes locked and Kurt fidgeted in his seat, facing her full on and edging a bit closer so that the gap between them was no longer so ridiculously large.  
“But it is what I learned from you that is most important. You taught me to be strong, to face that which we fear head on. To… cope vith the things that… torment us. That is why I left. You made me see the value of moving forward. And the strength we have vithin us all. That vas what I needed to face… my fears. The things I left behind me. At the time, it seemed like the right moment to make the trip.”

He rubbed his face with his free hand and chuckled half-heartedly. “In retrospect, I think maybe not.”

“Everything happens at the right moment,” said Ororo comfortingly.

Kurt laughed aloud, much brighter than before.  
“How did you become so wise?” He asked, his eyes glinting.

Ororo laughed back. “Oh, I don’t think I’m wise. We all give advice, but do we ever listen to our own?” 

“Even that is wise”, Kurt said, still smiling, as he placed his mug on the end table.

Ororo took a swig from her cup, shaking her head. 

“I came back. Before.” Kurt said, “I heard about the cure and the protests on the news… I knew it vould only be a matter of time until someone tried something… stupid. So I got a plane ticket and flew out to San Francisco. Vell, actually, I vas in the cargo hold vearing a parka and six blankets, but…”

Ororo laughed. Kurt flashed her a wry smile. “I got there too late, obviously. It vas all over. And I vas… I vas so _angry_.” His fists clenched in his lap.

Ororo felt her eyebrows lift. Anger was very unlike Kurt. She had never known him to be angry about anything. Even after all the pain and mental torture Stryker had subjected him to, he admitted only to sorrow and regret, and he never spoke of Stryker in rage or hate. But Ororo could see him visibly shaking: Kurt, who rolled with the punches and took everything as a test of one’s faith.

“It is stupid. But I… vanted to help. More than that, I vanted to _fight_. I had this chance to stand up for myself, and for everything I hold dear, and I… missed it.”

“Well, Kurt, to be frank… I think you’ll probably get another chance,” said Ororo.

Kurt dropped his eyes to the floor. “I’ve never thought of myself as a violent man, but…”

He brought his eyes up to hers, brilliant and full of feeling.

“Have you ever felt like that? Like… you need to fight? Because it will… make you feel… needed? Like you’re helping to make a difference somehow, like you’re doing real good for the world?”

“Of course I have,” said Ororo, “I think we all have. Sometimes, when everything’s calm, I almost miss the danger, because when I fight, it feels… like I’m needed, that’s right. You’re right.”  
After a moment, she lifted her mug to her lips and muttered “the cargo hold…?”

Kurt smirked and his tail thumped against a pillow. “This may surprise you, but I sort of stand out in crowds.”

Rain slashed against the window outside, and inside the pair was quiet for a while. When Kurt had swallowed a big gulp of tea, Ororo asked: “What did you do after that?”

“I helped clean up.”

Ororo raised both brows very high. “ _Our_ mess?”

“Ja, _your_ mess.” Kurt grinned. “Well, no. Mostly I helped with ‘porting workers and bits of the Golden Gate bridge wherever they needed to go. So really, I cleaned up Magneto’s mess. Not long after that, I received word that my mother, my adopted mother, vas sick. So I vent back home for a time.”

“Is she alright, your mother?” asked Ororo, concerned. Kurt nodded.

“She had pneumonia and a bad bronchial infection, but she’s healthy as ever now. You should have seen her when I turned up, she took one look at me and said ‘Bah, you vere just here, have you nothing better to do than sit around vith your mother?’”

Ororo laughed heartily. “She sounds like my kind of woman.”

“You’d like her. And she’d like you, I’m sure.” Said Kurt.

He sucked down the last of his tea. “And you?”

“And me,” said Ororo, finishing off the dregs of her own cup.

“How have things been here?”

Ororo sighed and placed her hands on her thighs. “It’s been… an uphill climb, but things are evening out now. We had to close the school for two weeks after… everything.” Her eyes looked tired to Kurt, borne down by heavy woes and responsibilities.

“But,” Ororo began again, “we got back on track. It’s been a rough couple of months for everyone, but the students are adjusting really well. And I’ve got Logan here. Well actually he’s a bit… missing right now. But that’s-.”

“That’s Logan,” said Kurt. Ororo smiled weakly and nodded her head.

“And Warren Worthington, he’s our newest recruit. A good teacher, the kids love him, and he’s very sweet. And Hank McCoy visits to teach a seminar once a month.”

“The ambassador?” Asked Kurt incredulously. He had seen countless TV interviews with Dr. McCoy, and he rather liked him. And Kurt may also have liked the fact that they shared the same rather uncommon skin pigment.

“The very same,” said Ororo. “The students are settling into things and I’ve got good people I can count on. That’s all I could ever hope for and more.”

Kurt’s face darkened and he looked away. Ororo felt her cheeks flush slightly. She may have accidentally insinuated that Kurt, by not remaining at the school, was not a good person or someone she could count on. That was the last thing she wanted him to think. She was attempting to come up with a way to diffuse the tension, when Kurt reached out and took her hand. It was brazen of him, he knew, but personal boundaries never seemed to matter with Ororo. Then again, that was before.

Her skin was smooth under his palm, and it rushed against his fingers as she returned his grasp. She tucked her fingers in between his in pairs, and she felt her lips lift upwards just slightly at the sight: with her fingers placed where they were, her hand looked just like his. Not blue, but three-fingered, just like his.

Neither of them spoke. The fire hissed as a log collapsed and the rain continued to batter the mansion walls. Kurt watched Ororo lick her lips, leaving them open just long enough for him to watch her exhale softly. Ororo could hear Kurt breathing, in and out, like a blue bellows.

“Kurt,” she said, looking him in the eye, “did you find what you were looking for?”  
He was still for a moment, and then he nodded. 

“What was it?” Ororo found herself asking. 

Kurt thought about what to say. “Redemption,” he breathed.  
“  
What is so funny, is that I really thought… you had to find it. Like… redemption is a place on a map. And that place, for me, vas home. I didn’t understand it until I got there. And I didn’t feel any different. I felt just as… horrible… as before. So I vent to a church I knew, and I prayed.

“And I prayed for hours, Ororo,” he said, looking at her with such intensity that she felt like he was staring straight through her. “It vas almost a day that I stayed there, in a chapel in the back, closed for renovations. I just prayed. And… by the end of the day, I vas almost delirious. And when I looked around me, everything vas the same as when I had come in. The saints were in their alcoves, just as they had been. And… everything vas dusty and there were tools on the floor, just as there had been. And I realized… that nothing changes. Not really. God turns the seasons, but… mankind turns the rest. Nothing just… happens. We make it all happen. And God blesses all his children. He loves them all, and he forgives them all. Redemption is… a gift we always have inside us. God’s gift to everyone. But we must find it and embrace it ourselves. God cannot give to us what he already has given. We make everything around us, and we make ourselves. So… I had to let myself… accept it.”

Ororo squeezed his hand. His faith had always intrigued her, but now it astounded her. It was so beautiful and pure, and he had been willing to share it, just the smallest piece, with her. It was not oppressive with Kurt. Somehow, with Kurt, it was enlightening. She felt the weight of what he had shared with her, though she didn’t fully understand it. Kurt had gone deeper than he intended. He wasn’t ready to speak to her about that particular corner of his past. Not yet. But he knew, one day, he’d tell her. And that in her grace, she’d listen.

“You got what you wanted,” Ororo said quietly.

“Twice!” said Kurt. 

He writhed in his seat uncomfortably. This, he needed to say. This was what he came to say. He had gone over and over it in his mind, but now that the words were at his lips, he found he was having trouble letting them go. And Ororo’s eyes were watching him intently, warm and brown and flecked with steel. He swallowed. The lump in his throat felt as thick as an egg and his heart was beating so loudly he could hear it in his ears. Ororo could feel it in his hand. She sensed that whatever he had to say was important to him, so she grasped his hand tighter. Kurt let out a shaky breath.

“For the longest time, I vas in love. And the woman whom I…” He squeezed his eyes shut and reopened them hurriedly. “She did not return my affections. Not in the same way. But we vere close. And… I told myself that vas enough, and it vould always be enough.”

He shook his head. “I spent so many years wishing… and when I vas home…it vas last week, I saw her. She told me she loved me.”

His laugh was almost bitter, the light in his eyes far away. “I spent so long wanting… I got used to it. I accepted how I felt, and how she felt, and that neither… would ever change. But she told me and I… realized I vas wrong. About everything. I vas wrong about finding redemption. I vas wrong about leaving here. I vas wrong about she and I. Because her feelings had changed. Suddenly, she loved me. Asked if I still loved her. And I realized, after all that time, suddenly… I didn’t.”

It took everything Kurt had in him to look back up at Ororo and catch her eyes, vivid and flashing. He let his thumb brush across the outside of hers in a slow, concentrated motion. She stayed very still and did not look away.

“I went back. Twice. I got what I vas looking for. And then… I got what I wanted. But it vas…” he stammered, “not what I needed anymore. Did… Do I make any sense?”  
Kurt could hear the wind whistling and the fire crackling. He searched her eyes. They were veiled; he couldn’t decipher what she was thinking. Ororo was still as a statue, unyielding. 

Kurt spoke so quietly, it sounded almost like a plea. “Ororo…”

The window alit with lightning, followed by a tremendous clap of thunder. Kurt jumped in his seat and looked outside, pulling his hand away. He sincerely hoped that this storm was the result of the natural weather, and not something else. He looked back at Ororo for confirmation. She was so struck by his apprehension that she almost laughed. Kurt caught her amused expression and dropped his eyes, his gaze shifting to the floor, and his mouth set in a bashful v. That look: his look. Her favorite look.

She leaned forward and kissed him, almost falling on all fours to breach the distance. Kurt’s lips were warm, almost too warm from his spell in the rain, and they fluttered beneath Ororo’s timidly. She pulled back gently.  
His eyes slid open slowly, dazzlingly yellow, and he smiled. Ororo smiled back. She _grinned_ back. Kurt brought his hand up to touch her hair, delicately, as though she were fragile. Maybe she was. When their lips met again, Ororo felt it. Something gut wrenching, deep inside her. She felt it. This was what she needed, too. 

All at once, the room was filled with the sound of shrieking guitars and hoarse screams. Kurt and Ororo broke apart, alert and confused. Impossibly loud metal music was cascading through the ceiling. Ororo could vaguely hear Marie yelling and the metallic thud of Peter’s footsteps tromping around the room. The noise cut off abruptly, punctuated by a muffled “thank god!” from Kitty, and then everything was blissfully quiet.  
Kurt’s mouth was hanging comically open. Ororo began to laugh. She laughed so hard there were tears in her eyes. Her heart felt ten pounds lighter, and she couldn’t seem to find the ability to do anything but smile. Kurt beamed back toothily, lightheaded and sorely tempted to teleport around the room whilst doing flips. He stayed in place, unwilling to move from her side, and allowed his tail to thump against the seat cushion like a drum.

“Kurt,” said Ororo, taking his face in her hands, “I’m glad you’re back.”

Kurt grinned. “So am I,” he said. From above them, a pair of eyes widened dramatically, and the tentative voice of a teenage girl, hanging halfway through the ceiling, said “Sorry, am I interrupting something? I can come back…”

###

As someone who’s pretty close to a complete atheist, writing Kurt is such fun. I love worming into his mind and thinking about religion through his eyes.  
Thanks for reading, let me know what you think! If you see any typos or grammar errors, feel free to message me and let me know. 


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